With That Smile on Your MurderFace
by knockoutmouse
Summary: Sequel to "Thrill of the Chase." Nathan tries to make up for his previous encounters with Murderface. Murderface reciprocates.


**With That Smile on Your (Murder)Face**

**Author's Note:** Follows my previous story "Thrill of the Chase," hence the title from the same song (sort of). I decided to write a sequel when I ended up actually visiting Düsseldorf.

**Disclaimer, a.k.a. Author's Lament:** I own nothing, or at least nothing much at the moment except a suitcase full of ratty clothes and a laptop computer that likes to give me mild electrical shocks. Certainly I don't own the characters featured herein. Please don't sue me.

**Contains:** Sexual acts (m/m), some profanity, implied self-harm (mainly in the form of references to both canon events and the previous story; nothing explicit), and Murderface chuckling in a suggestive manner. Again, please remember that views expressed by characters do not necessarily coincide with my own.

The next afternoon, Murderface sat in the bath of his hotel room, thinking. This was not how he had expected the band's tour of northern Europe to turn out. Last night—last night was still fresh in his mind, some of it unpleasantly so. But the part _after_ the hooker and the blood, that was what he kept replaying. Nathan had taken him down the hall to the band's private doctor, the _new_ private doctor, the replacement for the one who'd molested him. The doctor hadn't asked any questions, just stitched up the two deepest cuts on his arms, given him a small first-aid kit with gauze, adhesive tape, and antibiotic ointment, and instructed him to keep clean and return in a week.

After that, Nathan had taken him to a late-night café a few streets down, where he'd reluctantly let Murderface buy them both a beer, ordering in his halting German.

"I, uh, I wanted to take _you _out for a drink," said Nathan with a frown.

"What'sch it matter? We're both rich," Murderface pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's the principle," Nathan insisted.

They'd sat in silence that was somewhere between comfortable and awkward until the café closed and they left their half-finished beers to return to the hotel.

Alone in the elevator on the way back to the seventh floor, Nathan had, still hesitantly, placed his hand lightly on the small of Murderface's back. When Murderface didn't shy away, Nathan began to slowly rub his back through his shirt; it was unexpectedly soothing.

"Mmh," sighed Murderface half-involuntarily, and closed his eyes. After a moment of internal debate, he let himself relax enough to incline his head to rest on Nathan's shoulder. It was oddly…pleasant? Comforting, even. Especially when Nathan's arm moved up to encircle his shoulders. It had been a long time since he'd had physical contact with someone, assuming that fistfights and getting groped by Rockso didn't count.

Too soon, the elevator doors dinged and slid open. Nathan let go of him as they stepped out. The hall was empty.

"Um," said Murderface.

"Yeah," said Nathan, rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at the carpet. "So…"

"Well—" began Murderface at the same time, and they both stopped.

"I guesch I'll juscht—"

"Do you want to—"

They both broke off again in embarrassed confusion.

"Would you, uh, would you like to stay in my room tonight?" asked Nathan, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. "Just to sleep."

"Schure, I, ah, I could do that," said Murderface, trying to sound as if he were indifferent. "If you want me to, that isch."

"Yeah, I—yeah. That would be nice."

And it had been, yes, _nice_, Murderface had to admit. They'd lain apart at first, Murderface trying to keep his breathing regular and give no indication that his heart was racing, wondering if he could keep up the pretense until Nathan fell asleep. But he didn't have to, because presently, Nathan's hand was on his back again, still warm, calm, comforting. He felt the bigger man's silky hair sweep over his skin as the singer nuzzled his shoulder, lying close to him until he fell asleep.

He'd awoken this morning alone, but with a note on the nightstand in Nathan's barely legible handwriting: _Went to talk to Charles about travel plans. Back soon._

And, now, he sat in the bath, the water having cooled from his normal preference of scalding. "Too cold," he said to himself, though it was now what most people would barely consider cool enough to set foot in.

He stood and stepped out of the tub, and was just reaching for a towel when there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah?"

"It's me. I, uh, I brought you coffee."

Murderface wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom, where the air felt pleasantly cool after the veritable sauna created by his bath. Nathan indicated a tray with a pot of coffee and the usual accompaniments that he'd set on the table. "I grabbed it from some waiter on the way up here. He yelled something, but," he shrugged and grinned, showing his teeth, "I don't understand German."

"Aw, thanksch. No one'sch ever mugged a waiter for me before."

"No problem. Oh, so I talked to Charles, and he decided to postpone Berlin until tomorrow."

"Will they have to canschel the schow?" Visions of refunds draining money out of their bank accounts danced vividly before his eyes.

"No, it's not until tomorrow night anyway. We'll just have to leave late tonight instead of this morning because Pickles and Toki are so hungover."

"Well, that'sch their problem. Why should we have to wait around for thosche aschholes?"

"Do you really want to be on the bus with them while they're puking and complaining the whole time?" questioned Nathan.

"Good point."

After going for a walk down the Königsallee ("Why would schomeone pay three hundred dollarsch for a schirt?" Murderface had exclaimed. "That's not dollars. The price is in Euros," Nathan had explained, much to the bassist's consternation.) and near the train station ("Huh. Reminds me of Detroit," Nathan had remarked.), they returned to Nathan's room, still just as bored as they had been before they left.

"Huh," said Nathan again as he closed the door behind them, "Now what? You want to order up from room service? Or maybe go see what the guys are up to?"

"We _could_ do that, yeah," said Murderface, reaching behind him and clicking the door locked. "Or we could schtay in."

Nathan's eyebrows rose. "What did you have in mind?"

Murderface answered by stepping closer, rising to stand on his tiptoes, and kissing him. Nathan was surprised, but kissed back, his hands finding their way to the bassist's waist to pull him closer. The shorter man in turn embraced the singer as well, uncertainly at first, then holding him tighter until he broke away.

"Hey, you're crushing my ribs."

"Schorry. I juscht—I like doing that."

"Crushing things? Yeah, me too, but if my ribs are broken, I'm not going to be able to sing tonight. Or…other stuff."

Murderface chuckled. "We'll schee about that." He began to pull up Nathan's t-shirt.

"Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to do this."

"But I want to."

Nathan considered, shrugged, and finished removing his shirt. "Okay, but let's take it slow, all right? I want to make it up to you for the last few times. I—I'm still sorry. I was drunk, and I know it can't have been good for you."

"I—I don't know," said Murderface. Somehow he was uncomfortable at the idea of being the center of attention, at least in the bedroom, and especially with the way he was used to it going with Nathan.

"We'll see," said Nathan with a faint smile, echoing the other man's words. "Why don't you get undressed?"

"But—but—fine, but only if you will, too," stammered Murderface.

"Deal." Nathan began to unbuckle his belt. Murderface swallowed hard and proceeded to undress himself. He wished they could turn off the lights, but, considering that it was still afternoon, this would do little to hide his extra fat and scarred skin. Why would Nathan want to sleep with him, of all people?

Before he could concern himself further with the question, Nathan turned to him and ran gentle fingertips over his thigh. Murderface couldn't stop himself from shivering. His eyes snapped open wide as Nathan knelt in front of him and kissed him just above the knee. Murderface gasped. Nathan moved higher. To Murderface, the singer's lips felt feverishly hot against his skin.

"Why don't you sit down?" purred Nathan, easing him back onto the bed. "No, not that far back. That's better."

The singer leaned forward and took the tip of Murderface's cock in his mouth, moving slowly further. He wasn't huge, but he was thick, and hard for Nathan to take it all in. He went slowly, carefully, getting used to the irregular, scarred texture that had resulted from the bassist's self-inflicted musical experiments.

Murderface found himself gasping for breath, and tried to force his thoughts back into a coherent order. He was really here in a hotel room with Nathan, who was not only being affectionate toward him, but also giving him a blowjob. As if to make sure it was really happening, he ran a hand over the glossy dark hair, did it again, and couldn't seem to stop himself tangling his calloused fingers into it.

Nathan concentrated on the head of his penis, using his hand to stroke the rest of the length, and letting the other wander across Murderface's hip, back over his ass, and down, one finger circling his opening, lightly, almost tickling. Murderface threw his head back with a whimper, bucking his hips now, getting close to finishing.

"Mmm,"said Nathan, wanting to keep going, but slowly easing back off of the bassist's dick. "Come here. Down on the floor."

"What? On the floor?" said Murderface. "Why?"

"No, on your knees. No, like, lean on the bed."

"What for?" Murderface demanded, even as he complied and assumed the position. "What are you going to do?"

Nathan only grinned and gave him a slap on the ass, not too hard, but not too gently, either.

Murderface thought at first that Nathan was going to fuck him now, and, disappointed though he was that the foreplay had ended, he found himself looking forward to it.

But no, it appeared that that wasn't his intent, either. Nathan kissed up the back of his thigh again, one hand venturing forward between the bassist's legs to caress his balls and then take hold of his cock, stroking with building speed until Murderface thought again that he was going to come any second, and then—nothing. Nathan stopped, drew his hand away.

"What'sch that about?" spat Murderface, panting heavily as he turned to look at Nathan over his shoulder. "Why'd you schtop again?"

Nathan's eyes glinted, catlike. "What, you're not into edging?"

"I'm into fucking," explained Murderface.

"Hmm," said Nathan, running a hand over the other man's back. "How about rimming?"

"Rimming? That'sch gay."

"But—but _you're_ gay," Nathan pointed out.

"Am not."

"Riiight," said Nathan. "Cause, you know, this," he gestured to indicate their respective positions, "This totally isn't gay otherwise."

"I'm not gay," Murderface insisted. "I'm bischexual! There'sch a differensche!"

"You're impossible," murmured Nathan, running his fingertips lightly down over Murderface's leg, making him shudder again. "Can I—uh—can I try it and see what you think?"

"You can try whatever you want," breathed Murderface, swiveling so that Nathan's hand slipped closer to his dick. Nathan didn't take hold of the bassist's now wet, throbbing erection, but rather nudged his legs further apart, lowering his head to trace the edges of the other man's opening with the tip of his tongue, starting a slow, circular motion.

Murderface gasped in surprise. He'd always thought this sort of thing was disgusting, but actually if felt good. _Really_ good.

"F—fuck," he whimpered. "Don't schtop."

Nathan sped up, taking Murderface's cock in his hand as well now, letting his fingertips tease over the head. Murderface tried to thrust into his hand, but couldn't decide between that or spreading his legs further to force himself back against Nathan's mouth. Trying to do both at once only made him lose his balance. Nathan grabbed him around the hips with his free hand, holding him in place, and finding himself turned on by Murderface's futile struggle to thrust himself either backward or forward.

Nathan applied more pressure, actually penetrating Murderface slightly with his tongue, and seized his dick in a firm grasp, beginning a moderate, steady stroke. Murderface was _loud_. Nathan liked loud, but never would have expected it from the pudgy bass player.

"Oh my God. Keep doing that—yesch—don't schtop—" Murderface thrashed against Nathan's arms, which only made him increase the speed of both his hand and his tongue until Murderface cried out. His body went rigid, and Nathan waited until he felt the last spurt of warm liquid on his hand before helping Murderface turn over and collapse onto the bed.

"That—that wasch—it'sch been a while schince anyone'sch done that," panted the bassist. Nathan said nothing, just lay down next to him and eased an arm under his head.

After a few moments of lying against the singer and breathing in his warm scent, Murderface looked up at him. "And now it'sch your turn."

"You don't have to—" began Nathan, before he was cut off by Murderface rolling over and sliding down the bed to take the bigger man's cock in his mouth. Nathan groaned, and his hands flew to Murderface's head, black-nailed fingers tangling into the frizzy hair.

Murderface was definitely out of practice when it came to sucking dick, but he wasn't bad either. Nathan wasn't inclined to complain about the feeling of a hot mouth encasing his member when it was, for the most part, enjoyable.

"Mmm. A little bit faster, yeah. Unhhh…yeah. That's it."

With a little direction, and getting back into it, the bassist's technique quickly improved, and he knew it. After a few minutes, it became easier for him, as he found what motions caused the singer to grunt with pleasure. Murderface knew that it'd been easy for Nathan to get him off; he'd been unwillingly celibate for quite a while, and he'd even lost most interest in masturbation. Nathan, on the other hand…he was clearly enjoying it, but didn't seem anywhere close to finishing.

Noticing that Nathan moved into a sitting position, Murderface reached up and scratched, hard, down his back. Nathan cried out and thrust into the other man's mouth, so Murderface did it again, simultaneously making an effort to take Nathan's cock in deeper each time he moved down. Motivated by the singer's reaction, Murderface kept going, moving fast and digging his nails into Nathan's skin until he came, grabbing the bassist's shoulders hard as he gave a few last shallow thrusts into his mouth.

This time they both collapsed back onto the bed, breathing hard, lying close to each other, but both too warm to want direct contact. After a moment, Nathan reached over to brush a few strands of hair out of Murderface's eyes.

"Now what?" asked Nathan.

"How about we order up schome booze and then go schee if the other douchebags are still hungover?"

"Sounds like a plan."


End file.
